


Advice for the young at heart

by tahariel



Series: Backseat 'verse [9]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahariel/pseuds/tahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only when things settle past the initial rush of his new relationship with Charles that Erik realises how fundamentally his life has changed, and has a moment of self-doubt. Luckily Emma's allowing Moira the use of her hands today so she can hold the telephone long enough to give him some good advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advice for the young at heart

Erik’s on the phone to one of his minions, trying not to crush the handset with the power of his frustration, when Charles comes back into the study with a mug in each hand and offers one to him, sipping gingerly from the other and blowing on the surface to cool it. Erik takes it from him and tries to smile, but he’s distracted by the sheer idiocy being spouted at him down the phone. 

“No. No, stop talking and listen to me. No excuses, Kevin, okay? If you’d just admitted to me in the first place that you’d screwed up we could have fixed it, but now you’ve gone and made it a whole lot worse. I’m sitting here at home trying to clean up your mess instead of spending time with my bonded, and that makes me angry. If you lived closer I would be using your watch to make you punch yourself in the face right now. No, that is not workplace brutality, it is just punishment for your crime. Now fix it and stop whining at me about a problem you caused instead of doing something about it. Good night, Kevin.”

He hangs up and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk and crushing the impulse to go over to Kevin’s house and crush him. 

When he looks up at the other end of the double desk Charles is sat cross-legged in his own chair, the end of his pen trapped between his lips and another one tucked behind his ear, grading papers and illuminated softly by the light of the lamp behind him. There’s a pen mark on his cheek where he’s caught himself pulling his second pen free, a short black streak of ink.

Erik thinks, _oh_. And, _I live with this man now. He’s mine, he belongs to me._ And feels such a strong sense of wellbeing, followed immediately by a whipcrack of panic, that Charles looks up from his work with a frown, pen still caught between his lips and utterly unsupported by his hands, the tip of it wiggling up and down as his lips purse. 

_Okay?_ Charles asks without taking the pen out of his mouth, his voice a warm touch in Erik’s mind.

“I’m fine,” Erik says, and licks his thumb to wipe the ink from Charles’ cheek, but only succeeds in smearing it further, a long dark smudge down his pale skin.

“Hmm,” says Charles around the pen, but he doesn’t push. One hand comes up to pluck it from his mouth and he replaces it with his mug, sipping at his tea with bright eyes still fixed on Erik’s face, as though he’s trying to find the answer to a puzzle.

It’s become clear over the past three weeks that while Charles is always able to hear, he isn’t always listening, in the same way that Erik doesn’t pay attention to every sound he hears with his physical ears; now that he almost certainly is listening Erik carefully thinks about Kevin somehow neglecting to dig the foundations of their newest project deep enough before starting construction instead of thinking about his anxiety, thinks about it long and hard until Charles finally ducks his head and goes back to his marking, tapping his pen thoughtfully against his mouth before taking hold of it there again, dimpling the bow of his lower lip. Normally that would be a tease Erik couldn’t resist, but tonight he gets up once his sub is distracted and grabs the telephone handset from the desk, takes it with him as he goes out into the apartment and pads across to the bedroom on the far side.

He shuts the bedroom door behind himself quietly.

The bedspread is sleek and smoothed over the mattress, but wrinkles when he sits down, creases spreading out across it from his weight as Erik pulls his legs up to lean against the headboard, rearranging the pillows to support his back. Charles makes the bed in the mornings - it’s one of the tasks Erik has set him, something quick and simple he can reward Charles for, and they both enjoy the ritual of his checking to see it’s been done properly, inspecting it and Charles, getting ready for the day together. 

His breath when it comes out is a long slow shudder of air rattling in his chest. Erik lets his head tip back against the wall and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, taking none of it in, before cursing himself for his indecision and just hitting speed dial.

Emma picks up on the second ring, her voice crisp and businesslike. “Hello, Frost-McTaggart residence.” 

He almost hangs up, embarrassment and pride getting the better of him, but she would know, somehow, that it was him. “Hi, Emma.” 

A small, pleased noise. “Oh, hello, sugar. It’s been a little while since you called, I assumed you were still too busy test-driving Charles to waste any time on your poor sister.” He can hear her shift on the other end of the phone, the familiar sound of her stockings brushing together as she crosses her legs. “Are you being a naughty boy and ignoring him then?” 

Erik snorts despite himself and something of the knot in his chest loosens. “I’m twenty-nine now, Emma. You don’t get to call me a naughty boy any more.” 

“I’m still head of this family, and don’t you forget it,” Emma says. Erik makes a non-committal sound of acquiescence in his throat, which seems to appease her, because her voice is softer when she speaks again. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to Moira. No slight intended.” 

“None taken, darling, you’ll simply have to owe me lunch to make up for your heinous disregard for my feelings and tell me how indebted you are to me for picking such a lovely submissive. Luckily for you Moira has the use of her hands today. Moira, sweet, Erik for you.” 

There is a sound of the phone changing hands, a quiet exchange of words, and then it’s his sister-in-law’s voice that speaks next, firm and mellow. “Erik?”

“Hi, Moira.”

“Emma, could you - floorpad - thanks. Well, this is a surprise. We haven’t heard from you in a little while. Is everything okay?”

Erik pauses, words catching in his throat. “Well…” 

“No rush,” she says gently and he thinks about all the times Moira sat with him after he had a nightmare, even though she wasn’t really old enough to have a kid his age, had had him dumped on her and Emma by circumstance, half-grown, gangly and difficult. Emma had reined him in when he would have gone off the rails, but Moira had soothed the savage beast when he allowed it, and waited when he didn’t, placid and unthreatening for him in a way she never was for Emma. It had been strange, living in a family where there was a Dom and and a sub, seeing Moira submit to Emma. His mother had never had a Dominant around to submit to.

“How do I know if I’m doing a good job?” he asks when he finally manages to swallow down his reluctance, dragging the words out against their will. 

“I assume we’re not talking engineering?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, Erik. I’m sure you are.” There’s a moment where she doesn’t speak, where her breathing gets quieter before getting louder again - she’s swapped ears. “Why, do you think Charles is unhappy?” 

“No. I just.” He lets his head sag, eyes slipping closed.. “I’ve obviously never done this before, Moira, and I want to be a good Dom, but how do I know if I’m doing it wrong? I don’t want to be - one of those Doms who throws his weight around and suffocates the life out of his sub. I don’t want that.”

When he opens his eyes again the overhead light makes the white walls of the bedroom seem stark and cold, and cast in too sharp a relief. It’s an itch like sand under his skin, everything crisp-edged and cutting. He hears Moira take a surprised breath in, and then let it out slowly, controlled, the way she always is, serene. “Erik, two things. One, you’re not your father. Two, why aren’t you talking to Charles about this? I know you haven’t known each other long, and you know you can always call us, but this is what Charles is there for. He’s your partner.”

“I’m supposed to be his Dom,” Erik says, and rubs his hand over his face, forehead to chin, slow and heavy. “I’m supposed to be in control, to know what I’m doing and - he had a life before me, Moira, and he’s letting me have the reins of that. I can’t go back to him and ask him if I’m being overbearing, or if I’m not controlling enough, or - ”

“Bullshit,” Moira says, interrupting him. Erik falls silent, astonished, because she almost never swears. “Erik, Charles is an adult, not a child. You don’t have to be perfect all the time and he’s old enough to understand that, probably better than you do, apparently. You’re supposed to still be negotiating your life together at this stage. That’s normal. You should be finding out what you want from each other instead of calling your sister-in-law to avoid having to show your soft underbelly to the person who needs to know it’s there. Honestly, Erik.”

He thinks about Charles in the study, steadily working away at his responsibilities while Erik has his little freakout, and feels pathetic. “You’re not very submissive, you know that.” 

“Emma tries very hard to beat it out of me. She’s sure it’s hiding in there somewhere.”

It’s hard to push the words out, but he has to ask. “So you don’t think it’ll undermine things?”

“The only one who expects you to be in control all the time is you, Erik, and we both know you’re an idiot. It would be pretty tedious being a submissive if it meant being a mindless drone. You’ll be fine.”

The bedspread gets even more wrinkled when he gets back to his feet, and he smooths it out with his free hand to leave it as he found it, as Charles left it when they got up this morning. Their bed. The thought is simultaneously wonderful and terrifying, but the fear is lapsing a little now. “Thanks, Moira.”

“Bring him by soon, okay?” she says, and he can hear her smile. “I want to meet anyone who can tie you up in knots like this.”

“I can tell you with good authority it is very much the other way around,” Erik replies, knowing full well he sounds smug, and snorts when Emma’s voice says from a distance, “TMI, baby boy. Go away and bother your own submissive.”

“Stop listening in on other people’s conversations, then.” Normally he would be annoyed, but he’s smiling nonetheless when he hangs up, and goes to look for Charles.

Moira is right, Erik thinks as he looks at Charles from the doorway of the study, still bent over his papers, still ink-smeared and rumpled from the day and beautiful, masculine and soft-tempered and malleable in the way metal is - letting Erik reshape it without losing its inherent nature, pliable and immutable. His submissive is an adult, despite his - rapidly reducing - sexual inexperience, and Charles has his own life, his own good sense and capable nature. Erik needs to remember that he doesn’t have to be in charge of everything to be Charles’ Dominant.

“I love you,” he says when Charles looks up, feeling Erik’s gaze, and is rewarded with a slow-breaking smile, his submissive’s whole face and body lighting up as though somebody has turned on the sun inside of him, eyes crinkling at the corners with a delight and pleasure that spills over onto Erik’s thoughts, an encroaching sea of effervescent foam.

“I love you, too,” Charles says, without hesitation or artifice, as though it is easy. His hand rises to stroke the line of his collar where it sits gleaming and solid around his throat, where Erik put it, and Erik feels it like a caress down his spine, takes three long steps forward to kiss him with hands cupping his face, tips Charles’ head backwards to keep him there for it.

Charles’ fingers wrap around Erik’s wrists, and he holds Erik’s hands there, keeps him holding on.

 

~*~

 

Erik makes love to him in Charles’s office chair, Charles gasping breathlessly while Erik kneels between his thighs and sucks him slowly, tenderly, until he is quaking and begging to come, fingers clenching and unclenching in Erik’s short hair, cock leaking continuously but never quite tipping over into climax. It’s intensely arousing, this much control, and Erik is tenting his pants, the head of his own erection rubbing against the fabric of his underwear, trapped and throbbing. The stretch of his lips feels good, too, and the strain of Charles’ thighs where Erik’s holding them apart, keeping him from closing them. Erik smiles and hums around the cock in his mouth until Charles is moaning more than breathing, little sobs of air, then pulls back his lips to scrape the edge of his teeth along Charles’ length, and that’s finally enough to make his submissive wail and come, cock pulsing thick salty fluid down Erik’s throat that he swallows, licks his lips after and kisses Charles while the taste of him is still on Erik’s tongue.

“What about you?” Charles asks after, once he’s recovered enough to speak, and Erik says, “I’ve been told that you know how to suck it.”

He can feel Charles’ excitement building between them even though he’s already come, and Charles’ voice is studiedly casual when he says, “Can I use my hands?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Charles says, and shudders all over, eyes slitting shut for a moment, before slipping down off the chair and climbing into Erik’s lap, clasping his hands behind his back. “Is this enough, or did you want me to wear cuffs?”

Erik laughs and leans back against the bookcase, pulling his cock out of his pants and stroking himself slowly, enjoying the way Charles’ eyes follow his fingers. His sub is practically salivating. “I think you want to wear the cuffs. Go and fetch them, then.”

And Charles does what he’s told, peeking coyly at Erik over his shoulder as he goes. “I’ve created a monster,” Erik murmurs to himself, but there’s a warm glow in his chest nonetheless, caught under his breastbone. When Charles comes back he fastens the thick black leather cuffs around his submissive’s arms from wrists to elbows and pulls them tight, then buckles them to each other behind Charles’ back, bends him forward and fucks his mouth mercilessly while Charles’ mind in his begs him for more, choking and moaning around him.

Next weekend, Erik thinks when they’re both sated and sticky, Charles’ hands still bound and his face tucked into the angle under Erik’s chin, practically purring, next weekend he’ll take Charles to the toy store and he can pick out some of his own toys for them to play with.

“I’d like that,” Charles says, lips moving against Erik’s skin, and they don’t get up until they have to.


End file.
